Katzenjammer Cats

Katzenjammer is a German word that means “the yowling of cats.” It also means “hangover” because a hangover headache feels like cats are yowling in your skull. The Katzenjammer Kids is the title of a comic strip with a history that spans two centuries and two continents. In 1865 the German author Wilhelm Busch created a series of darkly humorous short stories for children, Max and Moritz, about two bad boys who got into all sorts of scrapes. The series was an immediate success and remains popular to this day.

In 1897, inspired by Max and Moritz, German-American Rudolph Dirks created a comic strip called The Katzenjammer Kids which featured two bad boys, Hans and Fritz, who played tricks on their mother, on a father figure called The Captain, and on The Inspector, the school parole officer. Widely popular, the strip ran in syndication until 1949.

My two Katzenjammer cats, like those bad boys, Max and Moritz and Hans and Fritz, get into comic scrapes as well, jammering all the while and I, like Mama or the Captain, try ineffectually to create a modicum of order from the ensuing chaos.  

Even though I love my job, some days can be frustrating. After a day filled with missed phone calls, angry clients, mixed messages, and general confusion, I staggered home one night looking forward to a good dinner, a glass of wine, a hot bath and an early bedtime. When I arrived, I was met with a jammer, Chloe stood in the window meowing frantically. “Come in! Come in! Save me from Annie!” she yowled, pawing at the window pane. I entered and rubbed her tummy to calm her down. I put some marinated chicken wings in the oven, and together we headed to the upstairs study with the mail. I sat in my rocking chair, putting the envelopes on the end table to sort and placing a glass of wine and a bowl of peanuts on the floor beside me. Chloe lay at my feet, purring, while I divided the mail into piles for recycling and immediate action.

With a rebel yell, Annie burst through the door. Chloe screamed and leaped to the safety of the window sill, knocking over the wine glass. Annie followed, tipping the peanuts onto the sodden carpet. She crouched below Chloe’s window perch, growling loudly while I ran to the linen closet for paper towels to sop up the mess.

When I returned, the cats were gone and the oven timer chimed. I cleaned up the carpet, tidied up the study, and went down to the kitchen to pull the wings from the oven. After making a quick tossed salad, I settled down at the kitchen table for a relaxing meal, Django Reinhardt playing softly in the background. After one bite of salad, I heard a screaming, thumping stampede on the stairs. Annie and Chloe chased each other into the downstairs hall. They landed on the scatter rug which slid down the hall. Annie hit the front door with a thump, yelling in anger and frustration. Chloe sensed an advantage. I heard her growl and spit, followed by a crash. As I rushed toward the living room to see what happened, the cats raced into the kitchen, nearly knocking me down

I found that a vase of flowers on the coffee table had been tipped onto the carpet. Just as I picked it up, I heard a crash in the kitchen. I dashed back to find my dinner plate on the floor. Annie pounded up the stairs, chicken wing between her jaws, followed closely by growling, spitting Chloe.

More paper towels sopped up twin messes. I listened carefully. Was everything quiet? Then my ears picked up a low, rhythmical, distressingly familiar sound, the sound of Annie vomiting. The excitement and the chicken wing were too much for her delicate digestive track. With a sigh, I carried the paper towels back upstairs for yet another cleaning task.” I give up!” I sighed in frustration.  I decided to crawl into bed with a good book and to call it an early night.

As I settled on my pillows, paperback mystery in my hand, annie tiptoed onto the bed and settled softly on my chest, looking deeply into my eyes. “Hard day at the office?” she seemed to ask solicitously. “Don’t worry. You’re home safe now.” With a sweet smile, she leaped daintily off the mattress and slipped beneath the dust ruffle to her home beneath the bed. As soon as she left, Chloe jumped on my chest to take her place. “You poor thing,” she seemed to say. “You look a little tense. Would you like a massage?” She began to knead and purr.

The sound of her purring and the gentle kneading was soothing. I felt much better except, of course, for the pounding headache that was even worse than a hangover. If you own two bad, jammering cats, I thought glumly, you can have a genuine German Katzenjammer without downing even one full glass of wine.